


heart made of glass [mind of stone]

by 4beit



Category: The Haunting of Hill House (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, threats of canon-typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4beit/pseuds/4beit
Summary: “nellie,” you say her name, nearly growl it, desperate to bring her back to you “nellie, you’re not at home. are you there? are you at hill house?”the line cuts.fuck.you only have one option now,you’re going back to hill fucking house.[or: instead of calling her dad, nellie calls theo]
Relationships: Eleanor "Nell" Crain & Theodora "Theo" Crain
Comments: 16
Kudos: 124





	heart made of glass [mind of stone]

your phone lights up and you almost, 

almost, 

don’t answer. 

you glance at the screen and for a moment, a fragment of a moment, you consider not answering. it’s spite, you know it is. how long has it been since la and everything that happened? what about everything that nellie said to you? and everything you said to her, really. out of spite you consider letting the call ring out and leaving nellie to say whatever it is she’s called to say, to your voicemail. but then, you glance at the clock and you see that it’s nearly eleven and the uprising of spite gives way to something else, something different. something you can’t put a finger on, 

yet. 

so when you roll onto your side and answer the call, you’re not sure what version of nellie you’re bracing for. this isn’t the first late night call you’ve taken from her, although it’s the first you nearly ignored. you’ve heard her euphoric, you’ve heard her crest fallen and everything in between. but all you know tonight is that nellie with tears in her voice, with fear in her voice, is on the other end of the line. 

“theo?” she says, your name a question, her voice thin, wavering. 

your stomach drops. 

oh god. 

oh no. 

“nellie?” you reply, sitting up in bed now, already half slipping out from under the covers because despite how you left things, despite your anger and your frustration, 

something is wrong. something is very wrong. 

“nellie, are you okay? has something happened?” you have more questions on the tip of your tongue but you bite them back, you hold them back and give nellie a chance to answer. you remember, for a flash, the night arthur died. you remember nellie, grief stricken and shattered but even then, even then after losing the love of her life, she didn’t sound like this. sad, deeply so. shaken. but this, this near emptiness you hear on the other end of the line, somehow combined with fear - you’re not sure you’ve ever heard her like this, wild and nearly on the edge of herself, but scared. 

deeply scared. 

all you hear for long, long seconds is nellie sniffling, nellie taking a wavering breath. you’re on edge by this point, literally on the edge of your bed and otherwise, on the edge of your own emotions. you want, more than anything to be in the room with nellie, not just because then you know she’s safe, but you could make more sense of this. 

you could take her hand, you could try and understand. 

then nellie says something that makes your blood run cold, 

“you remember the bent neck lady?” she says, and you can hear the fear in her voice even as your own rises, acrid and burning in the back of your throat. 

“yeah,” you force out, eyeing jeans in a heap on the floor, a hoodie slung over the edge of the laundry basket. you’re forming a plan to leave, to get to nellie before you even know where she is “yeah, i remember her.” 

the bent neck lady, your mother with eyes milky white and her head, her head half bashed in. how could you forget?

twenty-six years and that goddamn house is still haunting you and shirley and steve and luke, 

but haunting nellie most of all. that house has always haunted nellie most of all. even years later it still has this grip on her. it’s like she’s tethered there, able to roam but unable to escape. although really, have any of you really escaped that house? 

you’ve lapsed into silence, one unbroken by nellie except for her ragged, uneven breathing on the other end of the line and the fear you haven’t felt in so, so long, threatens to overwhelm you. 

“nellie,” you say, breaking the silence “nellie, are you okay?” 

a muffled sob and you’re pinning the phone to your cheek with an ear as you slip out of bed and bend to grab the jeans on the floor “i don’t know.” and there a long moments where you sit, where you force yourself to give nellie time and space to say whatever it is that’s on her mind. except when nellie finally says “i don’t think so.” 

her words make your heart break, makes your heart stop. 

“okay.” you say, needing the word as a filler, as a way to get your head together “okay, nellie i'm coming. where are you?” 

a pause, 

a longer pause than even the last one and you’re getting desperate. the stranglehold you normally have on your emotions is quickly weakening the longer you listen to nellie in distress. 

“home.” she says quietly, the single word seemingly an effort for her to say “i’m at home.” 

that doesn’t sit right with you. you can’t pinpoint what about nellie’s words make you think she’s lying, but you’re sure she is. you’re sure that wherever she is, 

home is not that place. 

you’re not sure nellie has felt at home anywhere since arthur died, since hill fucking house. 

hill house.

the realisation hits you like a truck. you feel sick. somehow you know exactly where nellie is. 

the knowledge that nellie is back at hill house, that nightmare of a house, 

you feel sick. 

you are sick, on the floor. your jeans are halfway up your thighs when you’re bent double and you vomit, once, all over the rug. 

fuck. 

you swallow hard, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand “nellie,” you say voice shaking despite your attempts to keep it steady “nellie, where are you?” you ask her again, needing her to confirm your realisation. 

“i’m home.” nellie says again, but her voice is more distant now, as if she’s slipping away. 

“nellie,” you say her name, nearly growl it, desperate to bring her back to you “nellie, you’re not at home. are you there? are you at hill house?” 

the line cuts. 

fuck. 

you only have one option now, 

you’re going back to hill fucking house.

* * *

you’re going ninety-five down the highway and you don’t care. or, you do care. ninety five miles an hour is a very dangerous speed to be going, but considering how categorically little traffic there is, you don’t care. you don’t have room to care about speed limits right now. instead, your mind is consumed with thoughts of nellie and that house, and nellie in that house. 

you’ve tried calling nellie a dozen more times since peeling away from shirley’s house in a screech of tires and panic. 

you don’t panic. 

not often. 

but tonight, blazing down the highway, terrified of what you’re going to find at hill house tonight, 

you’re panicking. you’re panicking because nellie hasn’t answered the phone, hasn’t even sent you to voicemail. her phone number has just rung and rung and rung until 

_“you’ve reached nellie crain, leave a message after the beep._

and the first time you’d heard the prerecorded tone you’d nearly cried. 

nearly. 

you need to hear nellie’s voice like that again. you need to her her voice full of smiles and laughter and life. not, not whatever the fuck you heard on the phone tonight. 

you’re scared. you hate that it’s true, but you are. 

you’re scared and when your phone rings on the passenger seat, you answer without thinking, without looking “nellie?” you ask. 

“no,” 

it’s shirley

“no, it’s me.” she sounds tired, confused and annoyed “theo, where the hell are you? i heard you speed off the drive like some kind of -” 

“hill house.” you say, cutting shirley off, “nellie’s at hill house. i’m going after her.” 

a beat. 

silence. 

another beat. 

“you’re kidding, right?” and it’s not that shirley sounds like she doesn’t believe you. it sounds more that she wants you to be wrong. she wants you to be wrong because nellie at hill house means, 

you’re not sure what it means. 

nothing good at the very least. 

either way, you’re not surprised shirley doesn’t want to believe you “i wish i was kidding shirl,” you say, feeling the tears in your eyes and forcing them down, forcing them away “nellie called me and she’s, she was fucked up. i've never heard her like that before. and she said she was at home, but she wasn’t there shirl. i know she wasn’t. she’s at hill house and i” you exhale, you force the breath out of your chest “and i think she might do something stupid. so i’m going there. right now.” 

“i’m coming.” shirley says and you hear movement in the background, can imagine her getting her purse, getting her keys “i’m coming up there too.” 

“okay.” you say, moving to hang up the call but then, 

“theo,” shirley says, and you hear the hesitation in her voice, hear something deeper too “be safe.” she says “please.” 

you don’t know if the concepts of 

_being safe_ and _going to hill house_ belong in the same sentence, but you appreciate shirley’s words all the same. 

“you too.” you tell her, and then almost,

you almost say, 

_i love you._

but things are not that desperate, yet.

* * *

the house is darkness and overgrowth and you’re sick again once you throw the car into park. you’re sick because you nellie’s car is next to yours and any chance, any hope that you were wrong, 

is gone. 

nellie is here. 

fuck nellie is here and you’re here and now you have to go inside. 

you have to. 

you have to find nellie. you have to get her out of this nightmare. you can’t wait for shirley or anyone else. 

you have to do this. 

you step around the bile soaking into the dirt road turned car park and look up towards the house. somehow, it hasn’t changed. it still stands there imposing and somehow darker than the darkness around it. despite the cloudless sky and the nearly full moon, it’s as if even the silver moonlight can do nothing to wash away the shadows from the house. 

it’s not a fucking surprise. 

you text shirley, it’s simple, you don’t have time for drawn out conversations now. 

**nellie’s here.**

nothing to be said about her safety, or your own, because neither are guaranteed. 

you silence your phone, slipping it into your back pocket and take a careful step towards the house. that step takes you closer to nellie’s car and for a moment, you glance inside. you see nellie’s phone, her wallet, her car keys. you see everything but nellie really. there are her footsteps in the dirt, leading towards the grass, towards the chainlink fence. you’re sure dozens of urban explorers and similarly stupid youths have slipped through the gap in the fence you wedge yourself through, just as nellie must have done hours before. inside the fence line you keep walking forwards, you don’t have time for reflection or memories or anything other than forcing yourself to put one foot in front of the other. you’re sure, 

no, 

you know,

that if you’re still for too long, or relieve the wrong memory, 

you’ll bolt. 

and you can’t bolt. 

nellie needs you. 

you need to find nellie. 

you enter the shadow of the house and shiver, even the air feels colder here. a familiar, unrelenting cold that you had been relieved to shake off once you’d moved. or, once you’d fled the house that night. 

that night so long ago. 

no. 

you can’t go there. 

you won’t go there. 

you’re at the front door. 

you’re standing in front of the doors and they’re ajar. darkness, even deeper than the one you’re already in, spills out from the house. you’re on the edge of it, caught where you stand. 

this is it. 

you take a steadying breath and for the first time in nearly three decades, 

you step inside hill house and a shiver drops down your spine. you can’t help it, can’t stop it. 

you hate this place. 

you hate it even more as you take a second and a third step inside. for a half a second the house is terrible still and silent and then, 

then, a thundering slam echoes from behind you, startling you bad enough that you stumble several steps forward just to get away from it, away from the front door slamming shut. 

“the wind.” you mumble, as if that was a reasonable explanation in this most haunted of fucking houses. 

it wasn’t the wind and you know it. 

the ensuing silence is deafening. silence broken only by your footsteps across the hardwood floor. it’s a hollow of the place it used to be, rotting and crumbling and somehow even more intimidating because of it. 

“nellie?” you say, calling out to the vastness, hoping against hope that she’ll respond. that she’ll say something, that she’ll emerge from the shadows and say that this was all just some terrible, drunken idea. 

but you know that won’t happen. 

you know nellie was sober when she spoke to you on the phone. 

you know, 

a clang echoes from somewhere deep in the house and your heart jumps into your throat. 

“nellie!” you call out, trying to place that familiar noise, trying to remember where within this hell hole it came -

oh god. 

oh no. 

you remember the spiralling metal stairs in the library and the number of times you slipped on them. you remember smashing your shin into the edge of the step and the resulting clang, the way it would echo. 

nellie is in the library. 

you move through the house quickly now, not quite running, but not quite not. you’re moving with a familiarity you thought, or maybe it’s hoped, you’d lost. and there are memories, so many memories that seem to emerge at every corner, with every step you take. you’re pushing them back, fighting them back because now, 

now is not the time. 

and it is certainly not the time for reminiscing when you turn the corner, skidding into the library and 

“nellie!” you cry out, one hand coming to your mouth as you process exactly what you’re looking at.

nellie. 

nellie at the top of the stairs with a rope around her neck, a fucking noose around her neck and she’s on the wrong side of the railing. she’s on the wrong side of the fucking railing with a rope around her neck and now, 

no, 

she can’t be, she wouldn’t, 

she can’t be thinking of - 

“nellie!” you shout again “nellie, i'm here.” you say, and there are tears in your eyes, in your voice, rolling down your cheeks “nellie, look at me please.” 

you’re running towards the stairs, head tipped back, looking at nellie, watching her, hoping that you’re not going to watch her hang herself. you can’t, she can’t - 

“theo?” comes a voice, scared and small and 

petrified. 

“theo, is that you?” 

it’s nellie. 

it’s nellie’s voice. 

you’re at the bottom of the stairs but you stop, you’re standing underneath nellie, looking up at her “it’s me.” you say “it’s me. i'm here and shirley’s coming. you don’t have to do this.” you promise her, plead with her “please don’t do this.” 

you can’t watch your baby sister hang herself. 

you can’t. 

you wouldn’t survive it. 

“i don’t want to.” is the last thing you expect to her “theo, i don’t want to do this. i, help me. please. please.” 

you’re running, 

you’re thundering up the steps and you can feel them shifting, feel them moving,

as if the house itself is conspiring against you. you reach for the banister but there’s nothing but air. you lurch forward and there’s an explosion of pain across your shins as you misstep, as you slam into the metal lip of the step. it hurts, it leaves you breathless but all you can hear is nellie shouting, pleading, 

“i don’t want to do this. i don’t want to do this. please!” and she’s crying, sobbing and she’s more scared than you’ve ever heard her before. more scared than you’ve ever heard anyone “mom, please!” she shouts, and you feel bile at the back of your throat as your mother, the dead and gone version you saw once before, flash in your memories. 

is she doing this? 

“mom,” nellie sobs, “i don’t want to do this, please.” 

she’s not shouting any more, only crying. only gripping at the railing under her hands. 

“i’m coming nellie,” you say, stumbling across the landing, stumbling towards where your sister is hanging on for dear life. 

for a moment, 

half a second even, 

as you’re throwing your arms around nellie, pulling her towards you, 

you see her. 

your mother. 

not dead and gone like so many years ago. 

but here and alive and in some sort of red dress. her eyes are shining, glittering but with tears or malice you don’t know, you can’t be sure. not right now. she looks exactly as you remember her, no signs of death or decay or - 

and then she’s gone. 

gone in the blink of an eye and nellie is all but collapsing into your arms. 

“theo,” she sobs “theo i’m sorry. i'm sorry.” she says and you feel her tears hot against your skin, against your neck. 

“i’ve got you.” you promise, “i’ve got you.” you repeat, mind still racing, mind still caught on what you think you saw and on what nellie was shouting “let’s get you down from here.” you murmur, one hand still wrapped around nellie’s waist, the other finding her hand, taking her hand, and guiding her back to the landing. 

nellie is trembling, full body shaking in your arms. you think her legs might give way so you’re pulling, tugging at the rope around her neck until it’s off and away and 

“theo.” nellie breathes, still crying, still shaking “i didn’t want to do that. i didn’t want to. it wasn’t me. it wasn’t-” she’s looking at you with wild desperate eyes. 

“i believe you.” you say, one hand smoothing her hair back from her face “i believe you. i-” you pause only for a moment before letting the truth spill out, a truth you barely want to believe “i saw her too. i saw mom here too.” 

“she, she tricked me.” nellie gasps “it wasn’t a rope, it wasn’t. it was something else. i didn’t put the rope around my neck. theo,” and you know you need to get nellie out of this house, away from this fucking house. 

“nellie,” you say, cutting her off “nellie, look at me.” she does, she looks at you and her eyes are still wild, still petrified, but more grounded, more present. 

she’s here. 

she’s with you. 

“we need to get out of here.” you tell her “we need to get down the steps and out the house. okay?” 

it feels like a big ask, given this house and that it just tried to kill nellie. 

tried to _hang_ her. 

nellie nods, nellie moves with you. you have one arm wrapped around her waist and with the other, hold the railing. you take the steps together, one at a time. you half expect them to disintegrate beneath your feet, or something equally unexpected and lethal. 

except they don’t. 

you make it to the ground floor, to the hardwood floor of the library and you run. 

you run, dragging nellie behind you. the house seems to shake and roar and a thousand monsters seem to appear, flickering apparitions all around you but, 

but, 

but you get to the foyer and the front door and it’s closed or sealed or 

something. 

you can’t get out. 

the door won’t open. 

“theo,” nellie whimpers and you feel her gripping your hand, you feel her pressed against you “theo,” 

“it’s the door.” you tell her “it’s the door, it won’t open.” 

_“you can’t escape this, theo.”_ a different, familiar voice says, cutting through the air like a cold wind. 

you whip around, dragging nellie behind you in the process. you plant yourself firmly between nellie and, 

and your mother. 

dressed in a red gown, looking real and here and 

“let us go.” you grit, speaking to the thing that can’t be your mom, 

can’t be. 

right? 

_“you need to stay.”_ your mother says, _“it’s time to come home, theo.”_

you shake your head, feeling nellie’s trembling hand in your own “this place isn’t home.” 

you’re not sure it ever was. not with all the fear, nellie’s and shirley and lukes and even steve’s. you were all scared and trying not to be. no, this place was never home. 

it ruined your family. 

destroyed your family. 

tried to kill nellie. 

might still be trying to kill you both. 

_“you really should stay.”_ the thing says, taking a step closer, holding out her hand. she’s reaching for you. your mother is reaching for you and _“it will be so much easier if you stay.”_ she says, her voice not deranged, not warped, nothing but soft, gentle even. 

your racing thoughts are beginning to slow. your grip on nellie’s hand loosening despite yourself. 

_“just come home, theo.”_ your mother says. 

when did the lights turn on? 

you blink quickly, one moment the house a darkened shell, the next it seems as if every light is on, every light the house has ever had. 

your mother takes a step closer, still holding out her hand. 

you could take it. 

you could. 

you could take your gloves off and take her hand maybe, maybe finally, 

you would understand what the fuck is happening in this house. 

“theo,” a different voice shatters the calm of your thoughts “theo, what are you doing?” 

nellie. 

it takes long seconds for you to understand that it’s nellie who’s speaking, that it’s nellie who’s using all of her strength to keep you rooted to the spot. 

when did you start trying to walk away? 

“nellie,” you say, voice half confused, half faded away “can you see her?” 

“no.” nellie replies, her voice thin and shaking “i can’t see her.”

“but she’s there.” you’re looking at your mother, not that you think it’s your mother but, 

“don’t believe her,” nellie says, and you can hear that she’s crying, still crying, crying again, 

you’re not sure. 

“whatever she’s telling you, whatever she’s saying. it’s a lie. it’s all a lie.”

your mothers face twists but only for a moment _“would i lie to you, theo?”_ she asks, and her voice, it’s lulling you, dragging you away from nellie’s words _“i wouldn’t lie to you.”_ she says, she promises. 

she wouldn’t. 

your mother wouldn’t lie to you. 

_“come home, theo.”_ you mother says,

and why are you fighting her? 

you take a step forwards, shaking free the weight on your right hand. your mother smiles, but, 

but it’s not right. 

something about this isn’t right. no. 

you take another step forward, gloved fingers nearly brushing against your mothers and then, 

“theo,” a shout, a desperate, terrified cry “don’t leave me. don’t leave me here, please. theo.” 

nellie is crying. 

sobbing. 

the depth of her fear, her agony cut through the illusion of the illuminated house and suddenly you’re standing in darkness. suddenly you’re back in the cold emptiness of the house. you freezing, fucking freezing cold as if you’ve just been doused in ice water. 

nellie. 

memories of nellie with the rope around her neck and standing on the wrong side of the landing. nellie pleading with your mother, with that thing, pleading with it not to kill her. 

nellie running forwards now and grabbing your hand, your arm. she’s pulling you backwards, pulling you backwards and all that faux calm, the illusion of it, is draining from you, fast. 

“nellie.” you gasp “nellie we have to, we have to-” but you can’t finish the sentence. 

you turn, nellie still holding onto your arm, refusing to let go, refusing to risk you wander off, wandering away. 

you bring a hand to the front door and, 

it opens. 

someway, 

some how, you get out. 

you’re met by warm night air and moonlight and the chain link fence under your hands before you’ve even stopped running. 

nellie is gasping, stumbling to the ground. you’re sagging backwards against the chain link fence, hands on your knees, feeling, for the third time this evening, like you might be sick. 

“theo,” nellie cries, curling in on herself. her knees come to her chest her arms curls around her shins “tell me you’re here.” she says “tell me this is real.” 

you take deep lung fulls of air before you answer. you look up at the house and your heart stops in your chest, the porch light flickers twice before you look away, sure that if you touched it, you would hear it screaming. instead, you look down at nellie, you kneel in front of her. you keep one of her hands tight in your own and place the other on her knee “nellie,” you say, voice far steadier than you feel “nellie look at me.” your words are soft, firm, not a command, a plea. 

she looks at you, sadness and fear in her eyes, but relief there too. 

“this is real.” you tell her “i am real. you’re real.”

“and mom?” she asks. 

“i-” you start, stop, thinking of the thing that looked like mom “i don’t know.” you whisper “i don’t know, nell. but i do know that you’re here, and i'm here. shirley will be here soon, if she doesn’t get pulled over by the cops for speeding.” you rock back onto your heels “let’s get out of here.” you suggest “there was one of those twenty-four hour diners just off the highway. we can go there.” you study nellie’s face, watching for any sight of hesitation.

there’s none. 

nellie stands, leaning into you as you guide her through the gap in the fence. 

you walk towards your car, aware of the rising sun with it’s pinks and oranges smeared across the sky. 

neither one of you look back at the house.

* * *

when shirley arrives, nellie is pressed against your side in a corner booth. you’re nursing a coffee and nellie has barely touched hers. she keeps holding your hand, squeezing it every so often, a reminder that you’re here, that she’s here; that she’s real. 

“hey,” you say, nudging nellie with your shoulder “look who’s here.” 

you meet shirley’s gaze as nellie stands, as nellie all but runs into her sisters arms. you watch as shirley hugs her back, holding her close but eyeing you with just as much concern. you can see nellie’s shoulders shaking again, know she’s crying; and you watch as shirley does what nellie’s been needing for years. 

she squeeze’s nellie’s shoulders and says softly “i love you, nellie.” and “you scared me.” 

nellie nods, one hand wiping her tears away, the other looking back at you “theo saved me.” 

shirley raises an eye, looking at you with more than one question on her lips. 

you raise a hand “get some coffee.” you say “you’re going to need it to hear this.” 

nellie steps away from shirley, who instead of sitting in the booth, holds out her arms “please, theo.” she says, and her voice wavers just enough to betray her own fear, despite how it’s now receding. 

you nod once, sliding gracelessly out of the booth and into shirley’s arms. she hugs you tight and fierce in all the ways you’ve never let her, or anyone else, hug you before “you okay?” she asks, murmuring it in your ear. 

“not even close.” you tell her honestly, “neither of us are.” and then you’re stepping out of the hug, flagging down the waitress. 

shirley sits down on the other side of nellie, and you sit on the other. you want to be near her right now as much as shirley does, even though she doesn’t know the story yet. you sit, leaning back into the booth for a moment as another round of coffee’s are ordered and a plate of fries somehow make their way into that as well. you lean back, gloved hands pressed against your thighs and try to just 

breathe. 

your eyes are shut, the noise of the diner is receding to a pleasant hum and then, 

then, 

she’s there. 

here 

she’s her in your mind and she was there at the house. 

how the fuck was your mom at the house? 

you think of her, standing there with bright eyes and that red dress and she hated you. 

you could see it in her eyes. 

she hated that you were there, that you were running towards nellie. 

she hated you. 

a hand on your thigh makes you jump, jolting into the table and sending small waves of coffee spilling over the edges of their mugs. you look sharply to the left, to nellie who’s pulling her hand away “where’d you go?” she asks. 

you swallow hard, she knows exactly where you went. 

but shirley? 

you exhale and look to your older sister “mom was in that house tonight.” 

nellie’s breath catches in her chest. 

“nellie saw her, i saw her. and she,” you remember nellie screaming, nellie pleading “she tried to kill nellie. tried to get nellie to hang herself. and i don’t know how, or why, but that’s what happened.” 

shirley looks from you, to nellie “is that,” she starts “is that what happened?” she’s asking nellie, hoping probably that you were wrong, or lying or mistaken. 

nellie nods, a hand hesitantly reaching for you, for yours. 

you can’t deny her that, not right now. 

you take her hand in your own. 

“it was like, it was like i was somewhere else. mom was there, she was giving me this locket and i, i put it on.” nellie pauses, her voice wavering “but as soon as i did that, it was the rope around my neck and i, i was on the wrong side of the bannister. mom, she was walking towards me, telling me i had to wake up but then, then theo arrived. she said my name and,” nellie shakes her head, tears in her eyes as she looks at you. 

there’s horror on shirley’s face and you don’t blame her. 

“and i got her down.” you say, bringing a hand to nellie’s back, “we got the fuck out of there, came here.” 

for several seconds shirley is quiet and then, 

“are you sure,” she starts and you feel nellie tense under your arm. you feel your own wave of irritation and imagine this is how nellie’s felt her whole life, not believed, not taken seriously. 

fuck that. 

“yes.” you bite “we are both fucking sure,” you hiss, keeping your voice low, but loud enough that shirley can hear you “that it was mom in that fucking house. that that house tried to kill us both.” 

“i’m sorry.” shirley says “i just-” 

“you don’t want to believe it.” nellie says “i didn’t, but it’s true.” 

“and it shouldn’t have taken this long, and me seeing her too, for us to believe you.” you say, speaking to nellie. 

she shakes her head “it’s easier to believe that i'm insane, over the house and also possibly our dead mother wanting to kill us.” 

“still,” you say “i’m sorry, and,” you swallow hard “i’m really glad you called.” 

nellie blinks “called?” 

you go very, very still “you called me tonight, last night. it was like eleven. you told me the bent neck lady was back.” you’re staring at nellie, breath caught in your chest. 

“i didn’t call you.” nellie says. 

you shake your head.

that’s not possible. 

you spoke to nellie. 

you spoke to her. 

right? 

you slide out of the booth. 

“theo,” nellie and shirley say at the same time. 

“’m fine.” you say, “just need air.” 

you’re not so sure you’re fine, but you need out of the diner, you need night air and a moment just to fucking think. 

no one follows you. 

not right away. 

you see that nellie wants to, but it’s shirley’s hand on her shoulder that gives her pause. 

you’re thankful. 

you step outside into the gravel parking lot of the diner and jam your hands deep into the pocket of your hoodie. you take deep breaths that do little to steady your heart or racing thoughts, but you take them all the same. you take them and you pace and you try not to cry. 

you really try not to cry but all you can think about is nellie’s voice on the other end of the phone, her tears and her fear and you were so convinced, 

so sure that it was nellie. 

now, 

now you don’t know. 

you look back inside the diner and see shirley and nellie quickly turning away, pretending that they weren’t watching you in the least subtle way possible.

fuck. 

what do you do? 

is this real? what if none of this is real? what if you’re still in bed and nellie’s hung herself and there’s nothing you can do? what if you’re still in that house, caught, trapped, unable to escape? 

what if - 

you slam your hand against the side of your car, feeling the jolt of pain ripple up your hand, through your forearm, your elbow and shoulder. 

it hurts. 

good. that’s real. 

your shin is throbbing and you know there’s a bruise developing already. 

you know the coffee in the diner is crap and the fries were okay. 

but, 

you look at the backs of shirley and nellie, 

now you don’t know. 

maybe the house has taken you too. maybe it’s captured you in it’s web of insanity and none of this is real. 

maybe, 

you take your gloved hands out of your pocket and look down, 

there’s one way to know for sure.

* * *

you’re back inside the dinner, sitting stiffly in the booth with your gloves on the formica countertop. 

“please.” you say quietly “i need this. i need, i need to know that you’re both real, that you’re here, that i'm not insane. that i’m not still in that house.” you think of your mother, you think of the way she almost convinced you to leave nellie behind and wander the halls with her. 

what if that happened anyway. 

it’s nellie who offers her hand first, sleeve rolled up. 

“this is real.” she says “we’re real.” and she’s echoing you from earlier, from before your own crisis. 

you reach for her hand. you reach for her hand and look nellie in the eyes just in case, just in case this is the last time. you hesitate, hands a millimetre from hers not wanting to lose this moment and then,

then you take her hands. 

you take her hand in both yours and you’re struck. 

you’re sucker punched in the gut with all of nellie’s relief, anxiety, fear, all of her life and her emotions. they overwhelm you, of they threaten to, but you hold on, you hold on just long enough to be sure, to be sure she’s alive, she’s here. you’re here. 

this is real. 

you feel how alive nellie is and there’s none, not a sign of the emptiness you were so scared of. there’s none of the darkness, none of the all consuming void. 

“okay.” you exhale, letting go of nellie’s hand “okay.” 

shirley reaches past nellie, holding her hand out, waiting for you to take it in your own before returning the gesture “we’re here, theo.” she says “we’re here and we’re real no matter how it happened, you saved nellie tonight. that’s what’s important.” 

you feel shirley’s convictions, her determination, her desperation.

you let go. 

you nod disjointedly “yeah,” you say, voice thick “i just” and you look at nellie. 

you look at nellie and you think of her on that ledge, half a second from death. you hear her terror, her pleading with something that looked like your mom, pleading not to kill her. 

jesus. 

what if you’d been too late? 

what if you’d never made it at all? 

never gotten that call? 

you exhale sharply, slipping your hands back into your gloves with practiced ease. 

“can we get out of here?” you ask, desperately needing the comforts of somewhere familiar, of somewhere you know. somewhere far fucking away from hill house. 

“are you safe to drive?” shirley asks. 

“safer than i was coming down here.” you reply, and then “what about your stuff?” you ask nellie “your phone, keys, they’re all in your car.” 

“they can stay there.” nellie blurts quickly. 

you’re relieved, to say the least.

* * *

in the car, with curled up in your passenger seat, you follow shirley’s car out of the lot. you have the radio on low, knowing that nellie won’t sleep, not in the car and certainly not when you get home. nor will you, not for several days you think,

at least. 

then a thought comes to mind, 

something you should have said before, said earlier, said to shirley too. 

“hey nell,” you say, glancing over at her sister, caught in the foreground of the spring morning. 

“yeah?” nellie replies, meeting your gaze, 

“i love you.” you say.

nellie smiles and you can breathe a little easier seeing her smile, “i love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> i have so many emotions about hill house. 
> 
> thanks to nerdsbianhokie for encouraging me to write this and reading various drafts of it.


End file.
